Leaning over the side of the Grand Staircase, Ron watched Harry and Ginny cross the entryway, their fingertips intertwined, Harry’s head bent to listen to Ginny. They stopped just outside the Great Hall, probably waiting for him. He had told Harry he would meet them for lunch. Ron could tell the story Ginny was reciting was a good one. She always talked with her hands when telling tales, and her one free hand was waving around her head like she was trying to swat away a swarm of bees. Ron could see Harry’s grin from where he stood.
“Are you sure you’re okay with it?” Hermione’s voice floated into his ear, as she came up behind him, slipping her hand into his.
“Yeah,” Ron said, continuing to gaze at the couple.
Harry and Ginny were a striking couple, his lankiness next to her flame. Ron watched as fellow students glanced their way, some smiling at the flirtation, others paying no mind. His eyes followed Dean Thomas as he walked past. Ron doubted if Harry and Ginny even noticed, but he did. Dean’s eyes lingered on Ginny then flashed to Harry. By the slight slump of his shoulders, Ron could tell as Dean walked by that he realized he had let something special get away.
Ron had no question that Harry knew he was a lucky wizard. Looking back over the past term, he realized Harry had been different from the first day they had returned to school after the holidays. First term, Harry had been so tense, so withdrawn. He had not laughed. He had barely smiled. Now, looking down at Harry’s grin, Ron knew this was a good thing.
“Hermione?” Ron asked, turning to look at her. “They’ve been going out all term, haven’t they?”
“Well, not quite all term,” she admitted.
“I am just thick, aren’t I?” Ron said.
“No, not that thick. You finally caught me,” she said, leaning up to give him a kiss on his cheek.
“Yeah, but that took almost six years,” Ron sighed.
“Yes, Ron, but the good things are worth waiting for. Harry and Ginny are a fine example of that. And so are we,” she said.
“Hey Ron! Hermione!”
Ron and Hermione turned around to see Bill Weasley trotting down the corridor.
“Bill! What are you doing here?” Hermione asked, giving the oldest Weasley a brief hug.
“Order business,” Bill replied, grinning at Ron’s disgruntled look. “Just finished meeting with Dumbledore. Thought I’d catch a bite to eat before I head back, see if the food is just as goo…” Bill trailed off, his eyes focused over Ron’s shoulder.
“Just as goo?” Ron asked, turning to see where Bill was looking. Harry and Ginny were still standing to the left of the doors, fingers intertwined.
“Damn,” Bill said. “I owe Charlie 5 Galleons.”
“What?” Ron asked confused, looking back at Bill.
“Bill! You didn’t!” Hermione said shocked.
“Hey, it wasn’t my idea. Mum started it. She put a Galleon on Halloween. Then the twins said Christmas. From what I understand, they’re already working on mistletoe that spews confetti. I put 5 Galleons on this summer. Charlie picked spring,” he sighed.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Well, at least your father had the sense to stay out of it.”
Bill snorted. “Who do you think took Valentine’s Day?”
Hermione shook her head, then a thought occurred to her. “Who won the bet on us?” she asked, waving her thumb between herself and Ron.
Bill grinned.
“What? Bet on what?” Ron asked, exasperated.
Bill took Ron by the shoulders and turned him to face the Great Hall. Ron watched as Ginny stood on her tiptoes to give Harry a kiss on the cheek and then enter the Great Hall. Ron watched Harry grin.
“Ahhhh…” Ron said catching on.
“Ahhhh….” Hermione and Bill nodded together.
“Come on,” Bill said rubbing his hands together. “I’m hungry, and there’s a new boyfriend and a little sister to torment.”
++++
“Harry, just because he was sitting next to him at the Quidditch match doesn’t mean anything,” Hermione said as she sat down across the table from him in the library.
“Yeah, but everybody knows that all the Dark wizards come from Slytherin,” Ron said, sitting down next to Harry.
“And Lupin did say Borgin was a Slytherin,” Ginny chimed in.
“I’d just like to know who’s teaching me how to defend myself,” Harry said determinedly, “and make sure it isn’t someone who shouldn’t be.”
“Have you ever thought about just asking him?” Hermione questioned.
“Hermione, I thought you’d be pleased I chose to look in a book first,” Harry replied, exasperated. “Anyway, I did ask Dumbledore after my last Occlumency lesson,” he continued. “I got the standard line of ‘he’s a good professor with lots to teach us‘. I still don’t trust him. It doesn’t fit.”
Hermione sighed. “Okay, let’s see what we can find. According to Hogwarts, A History, records have been kept over the years by each librarian, detailing the students, their activities, their houses, etc. I’ll go ask Madam Pince where they’re kept.”
Moments later, Hermione dumped several large, oversized leather bound volumes onto the table.
“I wasn’t sure the years Borgin was here, so I took a guess. We should look for him -- and also Lucius Malfoy.”
“Funny, I never thought about Lucius Malfoy attending Hogwarts,” Ginny said, wrinkling her nose at the dust clouds ascending from the aged books. Obviously, these were not some of the more frequently read volumes in the library.
“Here, I found something,” Ron said, tracing his finger down one of the pages of parchment. “Bartholomew Borgin donated100 Galleons to sponsor a new association called The Thestrals.”
Ginny snorted. “I’m sorry, I know what thestrals are. I’ve seen them. But it still sounds like some awful choir group.”
“Isn’t Professor Borgin’s name Nathan?” Hermione asked. “Is there a picture there?”
“Yeah,” Ron said, turning the book so all could see.
“Must be some relative,” Harry said, studying the picture of the well groomed wizard who stood with one hand by his side, the other clasped on the lapel of his tweed suit coat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
“The resemblance is uncanny. That might be his father,” Hermione deduced. “Lupin said Borgin’s father was a regular visitor to Hogwarts.”
“Yeah,” Harry nodded as he shifted his gaze back to the page. Turning the parchment, the next page showed a black and white picture of a group of eight students -- all Slytherins judging from the patch on their robe. The caption read “The Thestrals.” Harry read the names of the students, matching them up to the faces. He leaned closer as he read “Mullerey, Stewart. Patterson, Lewis. Borgin, Nathan. Malfoy, Lucius.” Standing next to each other, the younger versions of the two wizards under investigation kept elbowing each other in the photo, obviously trying to break the other’s solemn expression into a grin. Harry felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had seen enough pictures of his father, Sirius and Lupin to recognize the deep bonds of friendship, no matter how creepy, when he saw it.
Ginny looked at her watch. “Merlin!” she exclaimed, standing up and gathering her belongings. “We need to get to class.”
Reluctantly, Harry closed the cover, hiding the picture from view. Picking it up to return it to the shelf, a piece of yellowed paper fell out. Hermione scooped it up and scanned it.
“Huh,” she commented.
“Huh, what?” Ron asked, standing up and slinging his book bag over his shoulder.
“Harry might be right,” she said, looking up at them. “According to The Daily Prophet, shortly after Borgin graduated, the club disbanded and Nathan Borgin was sent to Azkaban.”
“What for?” Harry asked sharply.
“It doesn’t say,” Hermione replied. “It might be time to ask him.”
+++++
Harry returned to the library after dinner that night. What little space Ginny left free from O.W.L. preparation, Harry covered with the books Hermione had found earlier. Very little could be found about the secret club Nathan Borgin and Lucius Malfoy had joined, and much to Harry’s frustration, even less could be found about why it was disbanded and Borgin’s subsequent prison term. It was as if the entire incident had been erased and just a sentence or two left by mistake.
‘Harry, are you okay?” Ginny whispered.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Harry answered distractedly.
“Uh-huh. You know, if I were fine, I wouldn’t be pulling my hair out by its roots,” Ginny said, waving her quill at Harry’s head.
Harry released his vice-like grip on his hair and sighed.
“Harry, go talk to him,” Ginny urged. “Leave the books. I’ll put them away later.”
Harry sighed and nodded. Standing up, he leaned over, gave Ginny a quick kiss on the cheek and headed out of the library in the direction of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.
Rounding the corner on the first floor, Harry saw Professor Borgin wearing his cloak, closing the classroom door. Harry ducked behind a suit of armor. Peeking around the chest plate, Harry watched as Borgin carefully looked both ways before turning, heading toward the Grand Staircase. Harry thought briefly about going back to Gryffindor Tower for his Invisibility Cloak, but decided he might loose him if he did. Quietly, Harry stepped around the suit of armor and trailed Borgin.
Nathan Borgin’s heart was racing. After all he had seen and done in his life, he found it rather ironic that a night meeting with a past housemate should raise his adrenaline levels so. Of course, Borgin thought, he doubted Malfoy would register his nervousness. Azkaban had changed Lucius Malfoy. No one emerged from Azkaban unchanged, he admitted, including himself. In his case, Azkaban had allowed him to find the inner strength he needed to break ties with his family and his past. It had left Lucius Malfoy, though, if Borgin had read him correctly, with a certain sense of desperation. Why, after all, would a known Death Eater be associating with someone who had walked away so many years ago? Malfoy was underestimating his enemy and Nathan Borgin was not above exploiting that.
Holding his cloak tightly around him, Borgin hurried across the grounds, past Hagrid’s cabin, and into the Forbidden Forest. Pulling out his wand, he uttered, “Lumos,” illuminating the ground in front of him. Following a path long overgrown with meandering roots and rotted leaves, Borgin made his way to a small clearing where a second wizard stood, waiting.
Harry crouched down behind a fallen tree. Peering over the mossy bark, he watched Borgin hold out his hand. Harry caught his breath as the other wizard pushed back the hood to his cloak. The moonlight reflected off the almost white blond hair of Lucius Malfoy. Harry was not sure who he loathed and hated more at that moment, the known Death Eater or the professor who had hoodwinked Dumbledore. Harry crept around the tree trunk to the edge of the clearing. He noticed Borgin pause, thought he saw Borgin glance his way. Pulling his wand out of his pocket, Harry leaned closer to listen.
“It is an opportunity to go beyond what we started at school.”
“What we started at school was based on the ramblings of a delusional wizard, Lucius. How do you plan to go beyond that?”
“Your knowledge is much more complete than that of your father’s.”
“My father missed things,” Borgin admitted.
“Our time is coming, Nathan. Will you be ready?”
“What should I be ready for, Lucius?”
“Possibly your finest hour, Nathan.”
Malfoy slipped the hood of his cloak over his head. He turned and entered the forest opposite of where Harry crouched, leaving Borgin standing alone. Pulling his cloak around him, Borgin turned and walked to the edge of the clearing. Stopping briefly, Borgin leaned over as if to tie his shoe. Harry almost fell over as he heard the whisper. “Follow me, Harry.”
++++
Nathan Borgin closed the door to his office behind Harry. Taking his cloak off, he hung it on the hook on the back of his door. Walking to his desk, Borgin reached inside his coat pocket and drew out his wand. He placed it on the desk within Harry’s reach.
“It’s yours if you want it, Harry. I’m not going to use it.”
Caught of guard, Harry’s anger pulsed. Borgin knew he wouldn’t harm an unarmed wizard.
“I suppose you have a few questions, Harry,” Borgin surmised, leaning against the desk, facing Harry.
“I’m going to Dumbledore. He needs to know his newest professor is meeting known Death Eaters in the Forbidden Forest in the middle of the night,” Harry ground out.
“Dumbledore knows, Harry. It was his idea.”
Harry narrowed his eyes. “His idea?”
“Yes, his idea. Harry, I can assure you I owe Dumbledore more than you can imagine. Much like you, I would never deliberately do anything to tarnish his trust in me.”
“Does he know you were in Azkaban?” Harry seethed, his hand reaching inside his robes for his wand.
“Yes,” Borgin sighed. “I was wondering when someone would dig that up. Have a seat, Harry. It’s not a very interesting story, but I would appreciate the opportunity to tell you the truth if you took the time to dig it up.”
“I want to know what you were doing with Malfoy,” Harry hissed.
“I’m not sure I can tell you that, Harry,” Borgin replied evenly. “It might place you in more danger than you already are.”
“I THINK I SHOULD BE THE JUDGE OF THAT!” Harry argued, pulling his wand out of his pocket and pointing it at Borgin’s chest.
Borgin held his hands up in front of him in a sign of surrender. “Fair enough, Harry. Let me explain. In the end, you might also understand why I would never do anything to harm Dumbledore, this school or endanger The Order’s cause.”
“The Order?”
“The Order,” Borgin nodded. “The Order asked for my help. I agreed.”
Harry paused. Lupin had written him that Borgin’s talents might come in handy. Struggling to get his breathing under control, Harry slowly sat down in the chair opposite Borgin’s desk, his wand pointed at Borgin’s chest, his eyes never leaving his face. Borgin walked around his desk and sat down to face Harry. Propping his elbows on the desktop, he rubbed his temples with his fingertips.
“Let me start with your first question, Harry. It will lead to the rest.”
Taking a deep breath, Borgin began.
“We were known as the Thestrals. I know, sounds like a bad Muggle rock band. It was a more innocent time. We thought it inspired respect and fear,” Borgin shrugged. “Membership consisted of pureblood wizards who were able to see Thestrals, meaning, of course, we had all witnessed death,
“It was my father’s idea. I didn’t realize it at the time; however, my father had started the groundwork for such an association my first year at Hogwarts.” Borgin paused. “Hogwarts changes a wizard,” he said quietly.
Harry sat up a little straighter and lowered his wand. Sirius had said the same thing about his time at Hogwarts. He himself had felt it the first time he stepped onto the grounds. Harry did not want to have such a shared connection with this man.
“Over the course of my time at Hogwarts, my father watched me become what he termed a ‘complete failure.’ I no longer accepted the beliefs of my family. I questioned the Dark ways. So my father decided he needed to become more involved with my education. It was his attempt to make sure I knew my place. Little did I realize it was also a resource for his own use. He came to visit, became friends with a few carefully selected people in my house, and suggested we start a secret society.
“We met under the guise of studying death and burial rituals of different cultures. As you might imagine, with a mission and eligibility requirements such as ours, membership was limited. My father’s life’s work centered on death, thus considering the subject matter, it made it a perfect match for him to act as a sort of sponsor without question.
“At first, we actually did study the different facets of death rituals, studying the Egyptians, the Aztecs. Fascinating stuff, really, even for teenage wizards. We continued on in this course of action until simply studying became tedious to some members. That was when my father suggested we put into practice what we learned.
“My father had discovered on one of his trips to Egypt an interesting legend. When Muggle archeologists excavated empty tombs, it was assumed that grave robbers had beaten them to the mummified corpses no longer resting in their sarcophaguses. According to my father, this wasn’t the case. Historical magical texts my father uncovered told of a reviving potion, a potion to bring back the dead.”
Borgin poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher on his desk and took a long drink. Sitting back in his chair, he continued.
“My father suggested we try it. Start small, on simple animals, then move up. The members loved the idea. Since my father was the sponsor, I was the logical leader. This idea did not sit well with me. It sounded too much like one of my father’s experiments. I told them it was not a good idea. I was out voted,” Borgin shrugged. “But I was young and wanted to belong. After years of emotional and verbal abuse, this club had reconnected me with my father. It made my life easier. So, in the end, I made the arrangements to procure the animals.
“We waited until the Easter holidays, when we could have privacy to do our experimentation. My father claimed to have unexpected business and left us to do it on our own, asking us to take explicit notes. Much to our surprise, we were successful to some degree. While the resurrected creatures were functioning, they wandered around lost, few living for more than a day or two.
“The power of being able to achieve such a thing overshadowed the doubts. We were addicted and my father fed the addiction. He suggested we take the next step, to use our newfound knowledge to duplicate what legend claimed the Ancient Egyptian wizards had accomplished,” Borgin grimaced, and took another drink of water as if trying to rinse a bad taste out in his mouth.
“The plan was to wait until after NEWTs. We would go to downtown London, find a vagrant with no family, no connections, and bring him to my father’s home.” Borgin stood, walked to the window and opening it. “Not many wizards can say they thankfully owe their future to Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey,” he commented wryly, feeling the cool night air brush by.
“There were three of us who were charged with obtaining the subject. Stewart Mullrrey, Lewis Patterson and myself. A bottle of Firewhiskey for courage later, my two cohorts were too inebriated to participate. I was found by the Muggle law enforcement, my arm around a scruffy individual whom I am told I was trying desperately to convince that coming home with me was much better than returning to his cardboard box. Muggle law enforcement released me the next morning to my father’s care. When we arrived home, several wizards from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement were waiting to take me into custody.
“As it turned out, my two drunk associates had not only been unable to hold their liquor, but also unable to hold their tongues. The implications of our actions had the potion worked on humans would have been unimaginable. When I confronted my father before my trial, he admitted there was no legend and the potion was just another one of his half-cooked research projects.
“The fact the spell worked on animals meant there was something to it. However, there is doubt that it would have worked on humans. When all was said and done, the club members, my father included, claimed they had no knowledge or recollection of any events associated with such a practice and that I had acted on my own accord.”
Borgin sat down at his desk again. “My father didn’t bother showing up for my trial. I had failed for the final time and therefore was no longer worthy of his time or attention. But Dumbledore argued on my behalf, explaining to the Wizengamot that I was prisoner of my own youth and prisoner of a much stronger, more influential wizard, that being my father. My sentence in Azkaban was reduced to twelve months because of Dumbledore. My father, who had no evidence of any experimentation, was not charged. Upon my release, Dumbledore helped me leave the country and sever my ties with my family. Deep pockets allowed the Borgins to bury this deeply.”
Borgin breathed deeply. “Harry, I will not deny my actions. I grew up with the Dark arts. It was my life. When I learned there was more to life, more to myself, I was punished by a father willing to brainwash then sacrifice his own flesh and blood. I vowed I wouldn’t go back to it, and I won’t,” Borgin finished quietly.
Harry studied his wand in his hands, contemplating Nathan Borgin’s story. He did not care to admit how much he might have in common with the professor. He understood growing up with one life, only to learn there was a better one out there. And despite his ebbing and flowing frustration and anger with the Headmaster, Harry knew all too well what it was like to be in Albus Dumbledore’s debt, and he could respect that.
“Why are you here? Why does The Order want you?” Harry asked quietly.
“My specialty is Ancient Magic, Harry. As I have just told you, I am familiar with the philosophy behind revival potions, as well as the psychological and physical aspects of the older forms of magic. The Order believes this is a realm Voldemort is considering.”
“What does that have to do with Malfoy? And what did he mean by ‘go beyond what you started at school’?” Harry asked, afraid he already knew the answer.
Borgin stood up and moved around to the front of the desk. Folding his arms over his chest, he leaned against it.
“Rumor has it Voldemort has found something, something he hasn’t tried before. He’s become very agitated that it is taking this long.”
“But why you and Malfoy?” Harry asked frustrated.
“Our information is that this involves Malfoy in some fashion. He and I were once friends. We briefly shared the same ideals, the same path in life. We were both members of an association founded by my father known to have successfully resurrected a dead being.” Borgin paused, allowing Harry to make the connections.
“And having been out of the country for as long as I have, it wasn’t suspicious for me to return and strike up the friendship again. It was as if I had just been on a long trip not waiting around the corner to pounce,” Borgin said.
“Going beyond revival, though,” Borgin admitted. “That was new tonight.”
Harry felt numb. The implications of Voldemort being able to resurrect followers from the dead made him sick. He jumped when he felt Borgin’s hand on his shoulder.
“Harry, you now know as much as I do.”
“Why?” Harry’s voice broke. Clearing his throat, he sat up straighter in the chair. “Why did you tell me this? I’m not a member of The Order.”
“No,” Borgin agreed, “you aren’t. But you asked, and if it was up to me, you would be.”
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
It was after midnight when Harry climbed through the portrait hole. His head pounded, his eyes burned. He knew he needed to clear his mind of the damning information whirling like a tornado in his brain. Rubbing his forehead with his fingertips, he crossed the room and sat down on the couch facing the glowing embers of the fire.
“Ow!”
Harry jumped and looked down.
“Ginny! What are you doing there?” he croaked, surprised.
“Hi to you too, Harry,” Ginny said groggily, sitting up, her Charms textbook sliding off her stomach to the floor, landing on its spine with a thump. “It’s late,” she yawned. “Have you been with Borgin this entire time?”
Harry sat down on the cushion where Ginny’s legs had been. Leaning his elbows on his knees, Harry put his head in his hands.
“Harry, are you okay?” Ginny asked concerned.
Sighing, Harry sat back and looked at Ginny.
“Yeah. No. I don’t know,” Harry said, shaking his head.
Ginny cocked her head to the side and studied Harry. He looked exhausted and worried. She could tell by the slump of his shoulders that he was carrying the weight of the wizarding world on them. She would find out what he knew tomorrow. Reaching out for Harry, she tugged on his arm, pulling him down so his head rested on her lap. Gently she removed his glasses and placed them on top of her Charms book. Harry squinted up at her.
“Shhh,” she comforted as she leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. Straightening up, Ginny ran her fingertips lightly over the bridge of Harry’s nose, closing his eyes. She then began to softly comb his hair with her fingers, massaging the tension from his scalp. Harry’s breathing became deep and even as sleep claimed him. Ginny snuggled down into the couch, resting her head on the armrest, her hands continuing their gentle ministrations.
A/N �“ I would love to know what you think of this chapter. I had the hardest time coming up with a plausible reason for Borgin landing in Azkaban while keeping it relevant to the story (and somewhat believable by wizarding standards), but still make it okay that he come back as a professor. I figured a small club and a buried story!
My gratitude again to my beta parvatipatil - she has so much to put up with!
And all my thanks to my reviewers �“ I really appreciate it! Your input is helping make a better tale. Thank you!
Next chapter �“ An invitation arrives and some H/G goodness!